


Rip Me Open, Baby

by Daephraelle



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Fight Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daephraelle/pseuds/Daephraelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Michael and Trevor were never interrupted at the meth lab when Trevor threatened to rip open Michael's chest and find his heart, and Michael replied, "Rip it open! See what's there, baby 'cause I'm ready!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rip Me Open, Baby

“Whoa, nice place you got here,” Michael cast his eyes around the shattered remains of the building that housed Trevor’s meth lab, trying not to look at the man in question as he finished pissing in the corner and turned to face him.

“Oh, yeah, it’s easy to mock, isn’t it, huh?” Trevor drawled, his hands still closing the zipper on his dirty jeans. “Cheap and fucking easy. But err, this?” He gestured all around at the decaying walls and the shattered concrete floor. “This here is my place, and _my_ work payed for _my_ place,”

It had been nearly ten years since he’d last been with Trevor in North Yankton, ten years of forgetting and moving on – pushing everything he remembered of his old life and his old running partner into the cellar of his mind, but Michael could still sense an oncoming Philips tirade as easily as he breathed.

“Alright relax,” he replied as lightly as he could, “I was just being sarcastic,”

Trevor grimaced, his gaze flicking anywhere but at Michael. “Yeah, well, don’t be alright; because the world doesn’t need any more sarcasm, it’s the blight of the age,”

_Him and his fucking hatred of irony_ , Michael thought humourlessly. _One of those bizarre triggers that was just pure Trevor._ “Yeah, I get the point,” he replied, watching Trevor as he stood in the remains of a doorframe, shifting from leg to leg as he always did when he was... unsettled.

“You?” The word was incredulous and Michael stifled a groan of irritation – nothing stopped Trevor when he had something to say, and dammit if the two of them didn’t have a lifetime of words left unsaid between them. “You don’t ‘get the point’ – you’re like every other asshole. You made a bit of money, and you became a turd,”

Michael laughed bitterly and followed Trevor as he walked away. “I’ve got news for you – I was always a turd,”

How many times had he said that to Amanda, to his shrink, to anyone who would listen when he was plastered at a bar or some titty club? Why did saying it now hurt so fucking much, saying it to the one person who had once believed so utterly that he was something special?

“No!” Trevor half cried, half groaned, throwing his hands up in despair as he turned to face Michael. “You weren’t man, you were _something_ ,” Michael blinked, a little stunned to hear his own thoughts thrown back at him. “But now man, yeah you’re like this place, you’re a shell,”

Any nostalgia was lost in a red wash of guilt-fuelled anger. “Go _fuck_ yourself!” he replied, low and black – putting all of his self hatred, his fear, his shame over what he’d done to Trevor into his voice. “Are you some kind of pure, morally justifiable asshole? What, because you’re... you’re _totally_ psychotic somehow it’s okay?” _Just because you can embrace the bad guys that we are with open fucking arms when I can’t, when I never could..._

“I’m honest, alright?” Trevor replied, advancing on Michael. “You’re the hypocrite,”

Denial – his long time companion let Michael deflect that particularly truthful arrow and he stepped forward to meet Trevor, his lips drawn thin, eyes locked with the other man’s. “Oh, yeah, you’re a fucking hero, so far above it all,” he mocked.

“Oh yeah?” Trevor replied, something other than anger beginning to thread its way through his voice. “Well I’m not above ripping open your fucking chest to see what’s replaced your heart!”

There it was – the tiniest shard of the little boy that Trevor had once been, long before Michael had ever met him. It was always there, hidden mostly, but sometimes there were moments... people... that would call it forth. Michael had only heard it on a handful of occasions and here it was again – couched in bravado and threats, desperately wanting to know what had happened to its best friend.

Michael couldn’t bear it.

“Rip it open!” he shouted, flinging his arms wide as both men stepped back. “See what’s there, baby, ‘cause I’m ready!”

And he _was_ ready; he’d been ready for this moment for years. Maybe if Trevor dug deep enough, buried his hands in Michael’s chest as far as they would go, they both might get the answers they so desperately needed.

Trevor squared off in front of Michael, his jaw clenched, his full lips pressed tightly together, as though afraid of what he might say if he let them part. He was shifting from foot to foot again, his eyes darting left and right as though having finally come to this moment, he was terrified of what he might find.

The air was thick and heavy as Trevor’s gaze finally settled on Michael. That little boy was still there in his hazel eyes, but it was fuelled by thirty years of adult-Trevor’s rage and pain, backed up by a body that Michael was well aware could take him in a fight.

But perhaps that was the problem – he and Trevor never actually came to blows. No matter how angry either of them had become, no matter how close to the edge Michael had managed to goad Trevor, he had always backed down at the moment of truth, never quite willing to test whether Michael would still be there, be with him after the dust had settled.

Even as he thought it, Michael saw that same, defeated look flicker across Trevor’s face as he dropped his gaze to the floor, letting his fists fall to his sides. Nothing would be resolved again, nothing was _ever_ resolved between the two of them, and Michael couldn’t stand the idea anymore. Trevor was a fucking firebrand when it came to everything else, why couldn’t he _just once_ stand up to Michael and _rip_ the answers he needed from him?

No more thinking.

Growling, Michael ran at Trevor, tackling him through the door and into the filthy room beyond. It didn’t matter that Trevor was faster and fitter, Michael had weight and surprise and the long-buried talent of a star footballer on his side, and they crashed to the floor, Michael pinning Trevor beneath him.

He leant back, kneeling, his legs either side of Trevor’s hips, and threw the hardest punch he could muster at Trevor’s jaw. The dull crack sent a sick thrill down his spine and he was drawing his fist back for another, when Trevor began to growl, his head still thrown to the side with the force of Michael’s punch, teeth barred, lips pulled back. With a jerk that must have ripped stomach muscles, Trevor threw himself upwards and head butted Michael with an animalistic strength.

Michael swore, his eyesight flashing a sickly, spotted white behind his lids. Before he could even open his eyes again Trevor was on him, throwing him backwards and wrapping one heavy hand around his neck. Michael tried to shove his knee into Trevor’s groin, but the angle was all wrong and Trevor’s body was like iron wrapped around him. Instead, he flattened his palms and slapped both hands against Trevor’s ears with all the strength his oxygen-starved body could muster. It was enough to loosen Trevor’s grip and Michael wrenched himself sideways and scrabbled to his feet, his body low, feet planted in expectation of a full frontal assault.

Trevor was still kneeling on the floor, but he raised himself slowly to his feet and turned towards Michael, his face a shadowy mask of veiled emotion. Michael used the opportunity to take off his jacket – torn and filthy from the tussle.

“Come on, T,” he panted as he cast his jacket away with one hand. “You wanna rip me open? Here’s my chest – let’s see if you’re fucking man enough to do it, huh?”

With that, Michael grabbed his shirt in his hands and ripped it apart, the buttons skittering away like hard candy on polished floorboards. Trevor’s hands clenched, white-knuckled at his sides and he ran at Michael, his eyes fixed on his bared torso.

Their bodies connected and it was only two, three staggered steps backwards before Michael was slammed hard up against the back wall, Trevor’s fingers curled like claws in the meaty flesh of his chest, both of them panting with exertion.

“Come on, you fucking pussy, just DO IT!” Michael yelled. “You wanna see what makes me run, you no good piece of shit? Then fucking rip me open!”

Trevor screamed – an inarticulate, savage sound and dug his fingernails deeper into Michael’s skin until blood welled up beneath them.

Michael roared in pain and tried to head butt Trevor, but it had no power and only served to make Trevor pull him away and slam him back against the wall, cracking the back of Michael’s head against the plasterboard like a whiplash. A wash of nausea gripped him again, as Trevor dragged a hand away and swung it back, punching Michael hard on the breastbone, over and over again – his other, bloodied hand holding Michael up as he started to droop, his head hanging low on his chest.

When he could no longer feel the punches land on his skin, Michael tried to open his eyes. He could see nothing but Trevor’s hand as it continued to relentlessly connect with his upper body. Her rolled his head to the side and saw the other hand, wrapped over his shoulder, holding him steady, the thumb resting along the slanted line of his clavicle.

The blows were still coming, but they were haggard and uneven, like a stuttering clock that could no longer keep time. With a supreme effort, Michael lifted his head and found Trevor, his gaze still fixed on the bruised wreck of Michael’s chest, only now his eyes were shimmering, the pupils wide and dark, the angry, wrathful line of his mouth wet from the trails of saltwater that were running down his face.

_It hadn’t made things better,_ Michael thought with a resigned detachment. _Maybe it had just made things worse_. _Maybe there was no fixing this_.

“...Trevor,” it was barely a whisper – broken and gravelly, and skipping like a record.

“Fuck you, Michael,” Trevor replied blackly, despairingly. “You wanted me to break you open? I’ll break you open,”

“I can’t even feel it anymore, T,” he breathed. “I think that’s the problem,” Trevor let out a sob as he threw another loose-fisted punch. “I just can’t feel it,”

With a free hand, Michael grabbed Trevor’s incoming hand by the wrist, holding it tightly as it hovered near the reddened skin of his chest. “I’m sorry, T... I don’t think I’ve got your answers, I don’t think I ever did,”

“Fuck you, Michael,” There was still venom there, but the boy was in prominence – lending his desperation to Trevor, who didn’t try to move his hand.

“I’m sorry, Trevor, but I was never the man you thought I was, I was never the friend you needed. I hated what I was – I only ever wanted to be someone that I know I ain’t _ever_ gonna be,”

“No,” Trevor muttered. “You were _something_ ,” He emphasised the word with a heavy press of his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You were something to _me_ , but I was never _anything_ to you. Thirty years from then till now... and you _never_ had a fucking heart,”

_And so,_ Michael thought, letting his head drop. _The last person who believed in me finally sees me for what I am._ He stared, unseeing at the burnt red cotton of Trevor’s shirt as above him, the little boy faded from Trevor’s eyes. Michael let go of his wrist, both men letting their hands fall to their sides. Michael could feel the cold allure of the floor beneath him, his body rolling forward without the support of Trevor’s calloused hand on his shoulder.

Before he could stop himself, his head had fallen against Trevor’s chest, and his arms followed instinctively, landing on Trevor’s shoulders to help keep him upright. It didn’t seem to work though, as he began to sink towards the floor. It was only when his knees crashed against the concrete that he realised Trevor had dropped to the floor with him, his arms pressed to Michael’s sides, bracing him.

“So, you finally beat the crap out of me,” Michael murmured. “How’s it feel?”

“Like you needed it more than I did,” came the reply, steady and emotionless.

That made Michael look up – in all the years he had known Trevor, ‘emotionless’ had never been an adjective that applied to him. Trevor knelt before him at eye height, but his head was turned away.

“I thought if I could just get you to see...”

“See what?” Trevor replied, turning back to face him, anger deepening the lines of his face. “See my two-faced friend in all his hypocritical glory? Or see the truth of who you really are, of how little our fucking ‘friendship’ meant to you? Either way I was right – you’re a great fucking criminal – you can _lie_ and _cheat_ with best,”

“So you’re still angry, then?” Michael couldn’t help but feel a little perverse happiness, a little spark of hope that maybe Trevor still needed something, _anything_ from him.

“Course I’m fucking angry!” he shouted. “Fuck, Mikey, you were my best friend – that’s supposed to count for something, it’s supposed to _matter_. So – since you’re obviously such a lying, backstabbing piece of shit, why the fuck are you still here, making me kick ten types of shit outta you, when you could’ve just walked away?”

Michael watched the rise and fall of Trevor’s chest, the rhythm almost in time with his own. “Because I was sick and tired of you always backing down. You’re a Grade A psychopath, Trevor – you kill people for wearing the wrong kind of fucking t-shirt, but me? Well, it didn’t matter what shit I did to you, didn’t matter how close we came to blows, didn’t matter that I fucking _betrayed_ you and left you on your own, on the run for nearly ten years, because you _never_ fucking turned on me. Jesus, I’ve been afraid of you for most of my adult life, but there was no need, was there? I was in-fucking- _vulnerable_! Maybe I finally wanted to see what it’d be like, not having you follow me round like a fucking beaten dog,”

Trevor was terrifyingly still as he replied. “I am _no one’s_ dog,”

“Oh, like fuck you weren’t,” Michael taunted. “Besides, if you weren’t mine, you sure as shit were your momm—”

He’d expected some sort of retaliation for that, but the speed with which Trevor turned on him was unearthly. He was flat on his back again, and Trevor was banging his head against the floor repeatedly, shouting with each sickening slam. “Don’t. You. Talk. About. My. Mother! Fuck. You. Michael! Fuck. You! Fuck. You!”

There was no white light this time, only black swirls of nothingness sliding across his sight as he gripped Trevor’s arms and used the last of his strength to drive a knee up into Trevor’s solar plexus. Trevor reeled backwards, and Michael followed him up, adrenaline and sheer force of will driving him on when age an injury should have left him lying insensate on the ground.

Trevor was still coughing uncontrollably as Michael threw a wild haymaker at the side of his head, tipping him just enough that Michael could follow him over, straddling him, one hand gripping both of Trevor’s hands together over his head like a vice, the other squeezing a bruise around his neck like a mirror to the one encircling Michael’s own.

Trevor’s eyes flew open, his face flushing dark with the strain until Michael released his hold on his neck and punched him heard in the breastbone instead.

“Eye for an eye, you fucker,” Michael growled hoarsely as he punched Trevor again. He’d let go of Trevor’s hands to give himself a better angle for his punches, but his eyes kept darting back to them in frustration, as Trevor left them above his head, unmoving, his eyes staring at the ceiling.

“Fucking fight me you son of a bitch!” he snarled, but there was no response as he landed another exhausted blow on Trevor’s chest. “For fuck’s sake, Trevor, FIGHT ME!”

Still nothing, and Michael abandoned his punches and instead gripped Trevor’s face roughly in his hands. “Why won’t you fight back? Why do you _never_ fight back, you psychotic fuck? You fight everyone else, _why not me_?!”

The last was screamed in Trevor’s face, Michael’s fingers curled through his hair. The room seemed too small all of a sudden as he watched Trevor breathe erratically, watched him blink heavy-lidded eyes that insisted on looking at anything other than Michael. He wanted Trevor to react, to just... _do something_ other than let Michael fuck up his life all over again.

“Do something, _anything_ , Trevor!” he implored, desperation and fury colouring his voice as he used his grip on Trevor’s face to pull himself level, blue eyes boring into brown. “Or else _why the fuck did you come back to me_?”

Trevor shuddered and Michael felt the warm stutter of his breath as it swept past his face. Trevor’s hands finally moved, arcing down the sides of his body, lightning-quick until they were grounded, dug into the flesh of Michael’s thighs, his stare flicking down to Michael’s face.

The unbearable pressure that surrounded Michael seemed to build, and he was about to see if one good punch could break Trevor’s nose, when Trevor’s hands suddenly tensed on the backs of Michael’s legs and he hauled himself upwards, crushing his mouth against Michael’s – salty, chapped lips sliding across his own as the room seemed to explode outwards into blackness, leaving only the two of them, locked together in the void.

Trevor’s hands coasted up Michael’s legs until they were on his hips, his waist, his chest, sliding up the sides of his neck until they came to rest buried in his hair, his thumbs caressing Michael’s cheekbones with heavy, padded strokes.

Michael was frozen, his hands before him, cradled between the heat of their two bodies. Trevor’s lips were still exploring, teeth joining them to bite at Michael’s mouth, pulling and sucking until, with a small, desperate noise, Trevor wrapped one hand around the back of Michael’s neck, drawing him closer until they were almost chest to chest, and plunging his tongue into Michael’s mouth.

All rational thought fled Michael as he groaned and leant into the kiss. It was deep and desperate and more intense than any kiss Michael had experienced in a very long time. Opening his mouth properly, he let Trevor go where he wanted, letting his own tongue move in response.

His hands rose up, coasting across Trevor’s chest and up against the flat planes of his breast, one hand fisting in the torn material of his t-shirt. He groaned again and Trevor swallowed it, pulling him closer and dropping one hand to press against Michael’s lower back until Michael could feel Trevor against his groin, hard and insistent and so unlike anything he’d felt before. He wondered whether Trevor could feel him too, where Michael straddled him, his dove-grey trousers doing little to hide his own, unbidden arousal.

Trevor broke the kiss and Michael almost wanted to punch him for it, but instead he watched, transfixed as Trevor criss-crossed his arms in front of himself and pulled his t-shirt over his head in one, rough movement.

He’d seen Trevor bare-chested before, many times over the years, but now it felt different, as though something had been hidden from him until now. There were the beginnings of the bruises he’d inflicted on Trevor to match his own, there were the scars – both known and unknown to him, the red blemishes that marred Trevor’s skin, the dark dusting of hair that spread across his chest and trailed downwards in a narrow line.

Michael reached out and ran a hand down that expanse of skin until Trevor caught it and guided it back towards Michael’s pants.

“Wait, Trevor wait,” Michael breathed. “What is this? I— what are we doing?”

“Stop talking,” Trevor growled, and pulled roughly at the waist of Michael’s pants. Granted, Michael had wanted less talking and more action, but he was pretty sure that _this_ was not what he’d had in mind.

Trevor’s hands found the button and fly on Michael’s trousers and worked them open with a surprising amount of speed, sliding his fingers down the front of Michael’s boxer shorts.

“Whoa, whoa,” Michael whispered, grabbing Trevor’s hand and trying to ignore how badly he wanted to let him move it just that little bit further. “T, you... _we_ ain’t thinking clearly, this can’t happen. I got a wife, I got kids... We don’t even _like_ each other right now,”

Trevor used his free hand to grab Michael’s jaw. “You know I don’t give a fuck about that stripper you call a wife, and your kids are as grown up as they’re ever going to get. So why don’t you get off that high-fucking-horse, sugar tits and try being with someone who actually _knows you_ ,”

The last was whispered like sweet venom in his ear as Trevor pulled Michael’s face forward and rested his mouth against his cheekbone.

Pride, and the niggling voice that insisted the last ten years hadn’t been a pathetic lie, pushed Michael to respond. “You don’t know me, T that’s your problem. You _think_ you do, and all it’s gotten you is—”

Michael had let his grip loosen on Trevor’s wrist and Trevor used his lapse in concentration to plunge his hand deeper into Michael’s pants until he was gripping Michael’s cock firmly in the warm, calloused cradle of his palm.

“—Jesus fucking Christ,” Michael uttered desperately, his hands dropping to Trevor’s thighs as Trevor ran firm fingers along the length of his shaft, his thumb expertly teasing the head until Michael had to raggedly exhale with the sensation.

“Stop. Talking.” Trevor said again, only this time it was a whispered command as he rocked forward, pushing Michael onto his back and following him down, his body sinuous and slow.

His lips were back on Michael’s for a moment before they left to lay a heavy trail kisses down his neck and into the hollow at the base of his throat.

“I know you, Mikey,” he growled into Michael’s navel as he continued to trace his way down his body. “I know every move your fat body can make, every slimy word that can come out of your mouth, every thought that you think you hide behind those baby blues of yours.” He grabbed the edges of Michael’s trousers and slowly began to pull them down and away. “I’ve watched you die, come back to life, I’ve seen you hate your family, hate yourself, hate me... I’ve seen you at your best and your fucking worst, you stupid son of a bitch, _no one_ knows you like I do, _no one_ gets you the way I can. That’s why you tried to leave me behind, to go and live the ‘perfect’ life – little ol’ Trevor saw a bit too much, and _you—_ ” Trevor flung Michael’s trousers away in time with his words. “—being the nerveless sack of shit that you’d become, _ran_ instead of facing your fears like a fucking man!”

“Ah, fuck you, Trevor,” Michael replied, trying and failing to sound angry as Trevor crept back up the length of his body until they were face to face once more.

“Maybe next time,” Trevor replied as he leant down and captured Michael’s mouth in another, filthy kiss, pressing their bodies together as he did so.

There was no need to wonder whether Trevor could feel him this time – both men were hard and pressed tightly against each other as Trevor began to move slowly above him, grinding them both together, his arms supporting his weight as they lay braced on either side of Michael’s head.

Michael let out a groan and tried to let himself just be in the moment as Trevor kept up his tantalising, rocking movements, his lips wandering across the expanse of Michel’s chest. The guilt and the anger would come later, but right now, he was closer to someone who actually knew who he truly was (and wanted him anyway) than he had been in a very long time.

The feel of rough cloth sliding back and forth across his cock was good, but Michael suddenly needed more – he wanted lips and tongue and _skin_ pressed against him everywhere – he wanted to feel the heat of Trevor’s body bleeding into his own.

“Pants,” he grunted hoarsely as he rolled his hips upwards to meet Trevor’s clothed thrusts. “Take off your pants, T,”

Trevor grunted but complied, kneeling back and unbuckling his jeans, then rolling them down the hard planes of his thighs until he could shrug out of them. “Your wish is my fucking command, cupcake,”

Michael moved up to meet him, unsurprised to see that Trevor had decided to go commando. He dragged Trevor’s mouth down to meet his own, letting his hands wander to the hard jut of his hips, and behind to the swell of his ass, pulling Trevor towards him as he rolled them back down to the floor.

“Your turn, Mikey. Get ‘em off,”

Michael looked down at his blue and white boxers, and hoped that Trevor didn’t notice his moment of hesitation. It was a moot fucking point now, really, but if Michael did this, he would be utterly naked with the one man who actually had the ability to see straight through him.

He shivered and closed his eyes. “You do it,” he replied.

A moment of silence, and then warm hands were pulling at the elastic of his boxers, dragging them down, until his cock sprang free of its confines and Michael opened his eyes again to see Trevor staring at him as though he wasn’t quite sure he was real.

Michael reached out for him, wrapping a hand around Trevor’s thick bicep, digging his nails in a little until Trevor’s eyes flashed, and he lost that uncertain look. Reaching down between them, Trevor slid his hand along Michael’s length and began to move his body along with the rhythm of his pumping fist.

“Oh god that feels good,” Michael grunted. “Don’t stop, T.”

“Now why the fuck would I do that?” Trevor replied as he pushed himself against Michael, and shifted his hand to wrap around both of their cocks, changing his position until he could move his body properly in time with his hand.

“What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of fucking lube,” he muttered.

“Shame your meth lab ain’t better stocked, huh? Heh he— _uhh_...” Michael groaned as Trevor squeezed his hand, riding his thumb over the top of Michael’s dick.

“That mouth’s gonna get you into trouble one day, cupcake,”

“Little late for that,” Michael huffed, breathless, as Trevor spat into his hand and moved it back between them, rolling his hips over and over again. Michael moved to meet him, his own hips rocking upwards with every thrust, his hands digging into the hard muscle of Trevor’s back.

Trevor began to speed up his thrusts, sweat sliding between their bodies, until Michael felt trapped beneath Trevor’s weight and ministrations. Wrapping his arms around Trevor’s body he rolled them sideways until Trevor lay beneath him.

Some part of Michael may have wanted Trevor to finally take the initiative, but at heart he was still a man that was happiest when in control. Smiling, he pressed his lips against Trevor’s and ground their hips together.

“Fuck you’re heavy,” Trevor gasped as they broke apart for air.

“Well _that’s_ the way to my heart – making fun of my weight while we’re... whatever we’re doing,”

Trevor grabbed Michael’s ass with both hands and dug his fingers into the soft flesh. “You know damn well what we’re doing,” he growled. “So stop fucking around and put those chubby fingers to good use,”

Trevor’s eyes bored into Michael’s – intense and angry... and a little frantic. Part of Michael – the part that revelled in riling Trevor up just to see him turn white-hot with rage – wanted to see how long he could tease this out, wanted to see just how far Michael could go before the frustration spilled from Trevor and he simply took what he wanted. The image sent a strange shiver of lust down his spine, but the idea of having to wait for anything right now sounded excruciating, so instead, Michael reached down and slowly began to jerk them off, slicking their lengths with as much pre-come as he could.

It was different... and a little difficult compared to how it felt when he was just jacking himself off, but when Trevor’s hand joined his, long fingers wrapping around his own, something fell into place and they both began to move together as though they were long-practiced in the act of rutting naked together on a grimy concrete floor.

With anyone else, he would have been disgusted at their choice of location, but it was Trevor, and they were both bruised and bloodied, filthy from the floor, and streaked in the sweat that came from any kind of exercise beneath the San Andreas sun.

Trevor began to twist his hand a little at the end of each stroke and Michael dropped his head onto Trevor’s chest with a groan. “Fuck that’s good, keep going, T. Ah, fuck, yes...”

Trevor laughed a little – Michael could feel it rumble through his chest, and he began to pick up his pace until neither of them had the breath left for anything other than ragged exhalation. Trevor let his legs wrap lightly around Michael’s, and used his free hand to dig into Michael’s hair, pulling his head up until they were face to face once more.

“You gotta look at me, sugar tits,” he panted. “I want to see what you look like when you come,”

Michael’s hand stuttered where it was fisting their cocks and his own twitched in response to Trevor’s words, the vision of Trevor watching him as he came, pushing him to the edge of his control.

“Fuck, Trevor. You keep talking like that, I ain’t gonna last much longer,”

_Trust Trevor to take that as a challenge_ , Michael thought, as a predatory look spread across Trevor’s face.

“I’ve always wanted to see you come, Mikey. All those strippers that you’d take back to your motel room? Imagining what it looked like, imagining what _you_ looked like as you slammed them against those paper-thin walls? Thinking about how you’d close your eyes as you came, or maybe how you’d groan their name when you buried yourself inside them?”

“Fuck, Trevor!”

Trevor wove his hand deeper into Michael’s hair and pulled him down until they were pressed together – forehead to forehead. “Thinking about what it would be like if you sunk yourself into _me_ instead, called out _my_ name as I made you come, left bruises on _my_ skin...”

The wash of sensation flooded through Michael’s body, blowing out nerve endings as it rushed along his limbs like wildfire, erupting between he and Trevor’s spit-slicked hands.

“Oh fuck, fuck, _Trevor_!” he cried out as he came, arcing onto their joined fists and across Trevor’s tanned belly. His eyes were shut, his neck arched as he pulled his head back, mouth wide in an ‘o’ of pure pleasure.

His own hand had stilled, but Trevor’s kept on moving – fast and erratic now, any semblance of rhythm gone. Michael opened his eyes, his body still scudding across the waves of his own orgasm, and looked down at Trevor. His eyes were closed, a look of intense concentration etched on his face while he caught his lower lip in the vice of his teeth.

“Hey, Trevor... _T_. Hey, look at me,”

Trevor’s eyes sprang open and he watched Michael wordlessly.

“I wanna see you come too,” Michael whispered. “Show me what you look like when all those walls of yours are down. _Come for me_ ,” he demanded, and bent down to capture Trevor’s mouth in a hard, biting kiss.

“Come for me, Trevor,” he breathed into his mouth, and Trevor obliged.

With a groan, Trevor arched his back and painted both of their chests with ragged stripes of come. His eyes were closed again, but his hand was still curled in the hair at the nape of Michael’s neck, and he clung on as though the whole world was trying to pull him away.

When Trevor finally pulled his hand away and let his head fall back against the floor, Michael took the opportunity to roll off Trevor and onto his back. There was silence as they lay side by side, save for the sound of their heavy breathing slowly returning to normal. Michael began to try and count the number of rotting ceiling tiles above his head, desperate to ignore the fact that the silence was quickly becoming awkward.

When Michael could no longer stand it he tilted his head to look at Trevor, who was still unmoving, his eyes closed.

“Was that true, what you said?” Michael asked, not sure if he really wanted the answer, but desperate for something to fill the terrible quiet. For a while there was no response, not even the twitch of a muscle from Trevor. Finally, when Michael had given up and was already turning his head away looking for his cast off clothes, Trevor replied.

“What did I say?”

Michael sat up gingerly, knee bent and turned to face Trevor. “About when I used to bring strippers back to whatever shithouse motel we were staying at. About you... imagining me with them... how I acted, how I sounded...”

“Oh, that,”

“Yeah, _that_ ,” Michael replied with a little more force. “You don’t think that’s something we oughta talk about?”

“What’s to talk about?” Trevor replied, the tense, corded muscles of his body betraying the casual, bored tone of his voice. “I know what you look like when come now, I don’t have to imagine _jack shit_ anymore,”

“It’s just...” Michael floundered, searching for what he wanted to say. “I never really thought of you, on the other side of those walls. I always just assumed that you did your thing and I did mine,”

“Yeah, and never the two shall meet – I got the picture, Mikey, I got it a _looong_ time ago,”

_Evidently not completely_ , Michael thought, remembering the desperate look in Trevor’s eyes when he’d stopped punching Michael and started kissing him instead.

The heavy, muffled thud of a car door closing bled through the rotting front wall of the building, breaking the silence. “Ah, fuck!” Michael exclaimed, staggering to his feet and darting his gaze around the room. “That must be Dave and Haines. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What?” Trevor drawled from where he still reclined on the floor. “Afraid of getting caught with your pants down, Mikey?”

Michael scoffed and began to recover as many pieces of clothing as he could. “More like getting caught with my pants halfway across the fucking room,”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Trevor replied, slowly getting to his feet and stalking over to his jeans. He pulled them on, the denim gliding coarsely over his hipbones while Michael was still fumbling with his boxers. Heading over to the table where Chef seemed to keep an assortment of meth-related paraphernalia, Trevor grabbed a rag that was at least partially clean and used it the wipe away most of the come that was streaked across his chest.

“Here,” he tossed it over to Michael, who barely caught it as he finished doing up his trousers.

Michael grimaced, but found the cleanest corner he could and dragged it across his chest until he was as clean as he was going to get without having a shower. There were voices now, coming from the stairs at the back of the building and Michael swore, pulling on his shirt and doing up as many buttons as were left on it. It was a poor show and there was no jacket left to help cover it, but at least the bruises on his chest were mostly concealed and he could probably reason away any marks on his face to a bar brawl.

He looked over at Trevor and saw him still standing there, shirtless, as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. “Put your fucking t-shirt on, Trevor,”

Trevor arched an eyebrow at him, but pulled his tee over his head anyway.

“Hello?”

Steven Haines walked through the door looking like a reject for the LPGA tour, his arms spread wide and a shit-eating grin on his face as he looked from Michael to Trevor and back again. “Whoa, ladies, ladies, what’s up?”

“Fuck off!” Trevor spat at him, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing as Haines looked him up and down, taking in his dishevelled form.

Michael wanted to tell Trevor to calm down, to wrap a warning hand around his arm. Even after ten years, he slid back into the role of Trevor’s social manager with an unpleasant amount of ease.

Dave beat him to it anyway. “Listen,” he said, with all the command of a substitute teacher. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got a problem.”

“Don’t we always,” muttered Michael, and Trevor turned to look at him. Dave kept talking, explaining just what hoops they all had to jump through this week, thank you very much, and Michael did his damnedest to actually listen, rather than simply watch the muscles move in Trevor’s arms as he crossed and uncrossed them.

When they were gone, Michael let himself relax against the cheap Formica table behind him and looked over at Trevor. He was standing, his arms still crossed, eyes burning holes in the half-hung door that the two FIB men had just left through.

“I better call Lester,” Michael sighed, as he slowly stood and headed towards the door. “You coming, Trevor? Trevor?”

Trevor didn’t answer, his eyes unfocused on the middle distance.

“Come on, T – we got things to do, banks to rob... Let’s just... move the fuck on from _whatever_ this was, okay?”

_That_ got Trevor’s attention. “Don’t look back, huh? That must be your fucking family motto, Mikey. Jesus, you’re such a fucking coward!”

“Oh ho! It ain’t me that spent twenty-five years pining after my fucking best friend! Seems Mr. ‘Any Hole’s A Goal’, I take what I want, fuck the world couldn’t manage to find the nerve to go after something he _obviously_ wanted for most of his adult life...”

“You want to talk about _nerve_?” Trevor almost purred – his voice low and menacing. “Because what I failed to tell my best friend _pales_ in comparison to what you failed to tell me. I fucking _loved_ you, and you let me think you were _dead_ for nine years!”

They were back where they’d started, face to face, breathing hard – but the pressure between them held a different kind of heat than it had before. Michael took a deep breath, sighed and tried to let go of the tension that was building in his body.

“Jesus, Trevor I’m sorry, okay? I put my family first and I left you behind. And now...” he threw his hands up into the air in frustration. “I don’t know what you want from me! You know I’m a piece of shit, Trevor – if nothing else, today proved that the only thing I’m good at is hurting you. Why the hell would you want that in your life?!”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved leaves me, you fucker!” Trevor shouted, stepping deep into Michael’s personal space. “And then suddenly there you were, alive and I had the chance to claw back something... _someone_ that I thought had been ripped away from me!”

Trevor grabbed the battered collar of Michael’s shirt and pulled him even closer. “Don’t you get it, Mikey? I got _no one_. Nobody gives a _shit_ about me!”

He looked so convinced of the fact, so very hopelessly, _angrily_ resigned to it, that Michael stifled his first urge to manipulate the situation, and instead decided to speak the simple truth that he’d been ignoring since Trevor had shown up on his doorstep again.

“ _I_ do,” he said quietly, passionately, as he rested his hands on Trevor’s shoulders.

Trevor started to snarl, before he caught Michael’s gaze. There must have been something in Michael’s eyes – perhaps a piece of the man he’d once been in the snows of North Yankton, because Trevor’s eyelids fluttered, and the tight grasp of his fists loosened as he let his hands fall softly against Michael’s chest.

“You better mean that, sugar tits, or I’ll find you and I’ll put a fist through your chest again,”

Michael smirked and patted Trevor sharply on the cheek before he turned around and headed for the door. “Well if it ends up in the same place as it did today, maybe that ain’t such a bad thing,”

Michael was gone before Trevor managed to regain the power of speech, so the yelled reply reached him as Michael made the car park.

“You better mean that too, Mikey, or I swear to god I’ll wait ‘till you’re sleeping and I’ll superglue your hand to your cock!”

Michael grinned wickedly as he slid into the driver’s seat of his Tailgater and playfully jabbed the horn once, twice in response.


End file.
